


Edge of Infinity

by Lyndotia (Disenchantress)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders Dies, Dragon Age Quest: The Last Straw, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disenchantress/pseuds/Lyndotia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke has lost everything she has ever loved, and in the climax of act III, she realizes that no matter how she acts, she has lost one more. A more emotionally true version of the scene in which Hawke kills a romanced Anders. Rating for language and character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge of Infinity

“There’s nothing you can say I haven’t already said to myself. I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited.”

Hawke’s heart pounds in her ears so loudly she can barely make out the words. She has no idea what her face looks like, but there is no chance this can be hidden by a quip off her sharp tongue. Her tongue has never felt duller or heavier or more useless.

She lost her father to the taint as the Darkspawn began to swarm from the Deep Roads because she wasn’t a healer. She lost Bethany to the ogre as they fled Lothering because she wasn’t a champion. And even after she became both of those things, she lost her mother to a lunatic blood mage and no matter that Fenris stood beside her still, she had lost him after _one fucking night_ three years ago and no matter _what she did_ , it was never enough.

It doesn’t matter that Anders still breathes and speaks. She has lost him too, lost him to the spirit dwelling inside him that provoked all of this, and suddenly she is so angry her words come out as venom:

“Did that _spirit_ tell you do this?!”

“No,” Anders says, and his insistence that he and Justice do not have separate wills is drowned out by Hawke’s mind shouting in fury at the lie. She knows him, knows him better than anyone has these past few years, and the man that healed her heart, that whispers comforting words to her when she has nightmares of Huon, that puts out milk for stray cats, _doesn’t have it in him_ to destroy a chantry. Not without that thing breathing poison into his mind and slowly, slowly taking control.

When he was alone with her, he was Anders. But now… now she doesn’t know who is speaking with his lips.

Her other companions speak up to his claims, varying degrees of anger in their voices, though Hawke can’t make out the words. The rush of blood to her ears is becoming too much. She almost doesn’t hear Anders as he tucks his elbows close to his sides and says, “Whatever you do… just do it.”

Hawke’s fists shake, though even she can’t say whether it is with fury or anguish. Even her voice is torn between the two as she answers hoarsely, “You have… to pay for what you’ve done, Anders.”

A moment’s silence seems to last for days before he bows his head and admits quietly, “I know.”

He knows. _He fucking knew._ He went in knowing he would push her to this, knowing she will have no chance to keep even a fraction of peace in Kirkwall or her own damned party if she lets him walk away and he _did it anyway_. She teeters on the edge of madness, and his next words push her over.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you.”

The anger pools in her stomach like liquid fire as her pulse pounds in her ears faster than it ever has. Faster than when she ran to Carver as he returned wounded from Ostagar. Faster than when she flew to her mother’s side as the blood mage fell. Fear, it seems, just didn’t make her head spin and heart fly like betrayal does now.

 _He did this to her on purpose so he could die by the mercy of her hand instead of the fury of a templar’s._ All for a rebellion. For a principle. For an idea that is more important to Anders or Vengeance or whatever they have become together than she could ever be.

Then Anders’s voice breaks over the words, “It was nice to be happy… for a while.”

If he speaks after that, Hawke cannot say. All she can hear is her own heartbeat, drumming so fast it might as well be a constant sound. And she’s glad she can’t hear it as she slips the dagger into his back, right between his ribs, and she can’t forget that she knows exactly how to place the blade because so many nights she’s slept beside him with her hand _just there_ -

Anders hits the ground and Hawke’s hands cover her face, shaking, trembling, too unsteady to smother the sob that rips itself out of her chest.

He did this. He did it. But she did it too. She should have known and she should have stopped him like she should have stopped so many things before.

Like she should have saved so many people before.

Merrill feels Anders’s spirit slip away and with tears in her eyes, she moves forward to reach for Hawke. But Hawke senses it too and her hands slide up from her face into her hair, streaking blood and tears into clenched fists at the back of her head. Her face is hidden in the crooks of her elbows and she is either still sobbing or hyperventilating or both at the same time.

Varric understands before Merrill does and grabs the Dalish girl by the arm to drag her back, shaking his head tensely. He doesn’t take his eyes off Hawke; none of them do, even as the lightning begins to crackle at her fingertips and then suddenly her entire body is a livewire of purple light and thundering electricity.

The wind picks up next, buffeting the group and ripping the arrows from Sebastian’s quiver into a swirling maelstrom of lightning and death. Aveline moves to shield them as Fenris pushes them back, but the whirlwind collapses in on itself until Hawke is a moment away from a wayward shaft piercing her own heart as well. Then suddenly it explodes, engulfing her in a supernova all her own that spits arrowheads all the way into the stone parapets.

Hawke falls to her knees and suddenly the rush of blood to her ears gives way to the deepest silence she’s ever heard. Her own shuddering breath seems as loud as a war cry. She is only dimly aware that she should have roasted alive or at the very least singed all her hair off, but none of that seems important now. Her heart beats and Anders’s doesn’t, and it was her hand that stopped it.

There is a scraping of metal on stone as Aveline drops her shield and then Merrill rushes Hawke, throwing her slender arms around the Champion of Kirkwall that has suddenly withered like ivy in the snow. Aveline is next, kneeling but sparing Anders’s body one last glance and sad shake of her head before putting a strong arm around each Hawke and Merrill.

Hawke finally breaks and sobs into Aveline’s shoulder all the pain and anger she’s been holding in all these long years. She cries for Anders, for Justice-turned-Vengeance, for her father’s death, Bethany’s, her mother’s, for the futures they all should have shared, for everything that’s been ripped away from her too early and too bitterly.

“I’m sorry, Blondie,” Varric mutters, the consummate storyteller finding no noble spin to play. Isabela’s silver tongue is still and even Sebastian offers no platitude, for what moral is to be found in the wake of all this death?

Only Fenris looks as if he has something he wishes to say, but does not say it. Long had he wished for the abomination’s demise, all the more fervently since losing Hawke’s heart in his stupidity, but never once had he considered how utterly it might destroy her to be the one to do it.

A scream sounds in the distance and Hawke raises her head at last. Merrill squeezes her tightly once more and then releases her, and the Champion stands, brushing so much tear-crusted dirt off her face with one forearm. The day is not done. Anders could not be saved, but there are mages in the Gallows that still can be.

If luck is on her side, perhaps Hawke might even be one of them.


End file.
